Vultures in Mourning

Vultures in Mourning

A Poem by Constance

How do we put ourselves above the savage cannibal

When we ask to see the will and feel a desire to own

The life and livelihood of those whom we shall miss?

 

How do we sort through eight decades lived and sell

The things we don't find of highest value, stash

Things we don't really need, back in the closet?

 

How do we do what we do when they leave us

Asking only for just what they may have left us:

Vultures, why circle the coming carrion? Oh, greed...

 

I condemn, and, at least a little, condemn myself.

 

 

 

 

© 2008 Constance


Author's Note

Constance
When a relative dies, or is close to death, who had a little money... it's funny how those living miles away who never called or wrote for years come flying in to give kisses and say goodbye, while asking to see the will. But a notch above Cannabalism? Perhaps....First my grandmother, the antique collector, then my grandfather, the big spender... and the relatives, both times, making me sick.

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A great way to express your disgust in people that raid funerals and send flowers in blessings with alterior motives. It is hard to think about how these people live with themselves. We see them everyday, most of humanity is not above this deplorable act. I will probably die poor and have five or six people at my funeral, but atleast I know those five or six people actually cared about me.

Now you got me thinking. A creative way to express your frustrations (:

Posted 15 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.




Reviews

This is so true, my family is too little and has no money worth afight over. But I've seen it in other families and I could never understand how monatary means so more then the lost of someone close. Good write Constance.

Posted 15 Years Ago


A great way to express your disgust in people that raid funerals and send flowers in blessings with alterior motives. It is hard to think about how these people live with themselves. We see them everyday, most of humanity is not above this deplorable act. I will probably die poor and have five or six people at my funeral, but atleast I know those five or six people actually cared about me.

Now you got me thinking. A creative way to express your frustrations (:

Posted 15 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

I feel you pain and your poem is hard truth and straight to the point!
Again, another great poem from the extremely artistic talented world of yours!
Let it all loose and write from and for your soul!
Always a fan!
TIM

Posted 15 Years Ago


I know exactly how this feels. As always, I can always relate with your words.

Posted 15 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

Oh my when I read the poem I could see the raw anger then reading your notes i can see why and making the poem all the more powerful... I am sorry for your loss and total agree on how sick it is when all of the sudden relatives who wouldn't give a minute of there time are suddenly given their condolences in hope of getting something in return, that actually makes me sick... you poem certainly expresses your emotions extremely well... BRAVO for taking a stand.

Posted 15 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

I'm sorry.
My thoughts are with you and your family at this time.
I think you were perfectly justifiable in your comparison. But if someone values material goods that much, then there can't be much comfort to them when they lie awake at night. There should really be more people like you around, Constance. The love for your family is true.
But don't stop writing: let your anger out. Let it all out
*hugs*
Thinking of you and your family,
XX

Posted 15 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.


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Added on July 5, 2008
Last Updated on July 5, 2008

Author

Constance
Constance

A Small Town in, KS



About
I write about my past, my own real experiences. Even my poetry is inspired by my life. I was, I suppose, born writing, making up stories and rhymes from about when I started to speak, but had to wait .. more..

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A Poem by Constance